


I Will Surely Break

by EclecticMuse



Series: The Reboot and Everything After [3]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Graphic depictions of alcohol poisoning, I suppose this classifies as a whumpfic, Suicide Attempt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lingering guilt over losing Amanda Grayson's transporter signal has terrible consequences for Pavel Chekov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Surely Break

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2010. An excerpt taken from roughly halfway through the timline of another fic of mine, 'Comedy of Errors'. This part was just screaming to get out of my brain, so it was the first to be written. It's not fully necessary to read what I have posted so far of Comedy of Errors, but it might help. Some notes of mention to help:  
> \- Spock is not on the Enterprise here. He left for the Vulcan colony some months earlier, hurting Uhura very badly in the process. Lt. Harrison is his replacement.  
> \- Chekov had been nursing a crush on Uhura and about a week prior to this had confessed it, but was politely rejected.  
> \- Of course, the real reason behind all this was guilt over Amanda (which no one was aware of), but Uhura turning him down was sort of the straw that broke the camel's back.
> 
> Trigger warnings for graphic depictions of the effects of alcohol poisoning and an attempted suicide attempt.
> 
> I have no idea what this fic is. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.

"How much longer until we come out of warp, Mister Sulu?" Kirk asked.  
  
The helmsman consulted his readouts. "Approximately ten minutes, sir." Kirk nodded, then shifted his gaze back to the empty tactician's seat. He frowned.  
  
"Anybody know where Chekov is?" he finally asked, throwing his hands up. The informality reminded Uhura again of Kirk's struggles in adjusting to his captaincy; sometimes he just wanted to talk to his bridge crew like normal people. As it was, he was swiveling side-to-side slightly in his seat, chewing on a thumbnail.  
  
Sulu glanced back, trying and failing not to look a little worried. "No clue, sir," he replied, as other crew members shrugged. "Last time I saw him was at lunch in the mess hall."  
  
Kirk continued to chew on his thumb, brows creasing. "And he seemed okay?"  
  
Sulu nodded without looking up from his station. Kirk sighed and stretched. "Well, he's ten minutes late for his shift and we need him to help get us through that gas field when we come out of warp." He swiveled around to face Uhura. "Lieutenant, can you page him for me?"  
  
Uhura nodded as she switched over to an internal frequency and sent a hailing tone to the comm in Chekov's quarters. After waiting the standard fifteen seconds, she tried again. No answer came back.  
  
"Captain, he's not answering," she said, looking back at Kirk. This time not only did Kirk swivel to face her, but so did Sulu and Lieutenant Harrison. Kirk looked like he was torn between rolling his eyes and being genuinely concerned.  
  
"All right," he said. "Do me a favor and go beat down his door for me." At Uhura's affronted look, he added, "Please?"  
  
Sulu was standing up. "Sir, I'll go--"  
  
Kirk waved him down. "No, Lieutenant, we need you here to take us out of warp. Uhura, you go--Lieutenant Hawkins can cover for you."  
  
"Yes sir." Uhura stood and headed for the lift, looking to Sulu as she went. He nodded at her; then the doors to the lift swooshed shut and she was on her way.  
  
She couldn't help but feel a nervous twinge in her stomach as she exited onto Deck 9. She was pretty sure she was still the last person alive Chekov would want to see, but maybe she could make the best of it. Yes, that was it--now that she had the opportunity to talk to him where he couldn't run, she would apologize. Guilt had been gnawing at her gut the entire past week, and she hated that Chekov didn't seem to be able to even bear her presence anymore. If anything, this needed to be fixed for professional purposes at the very least. Tactical and Communications couldn't work together if Tactical refused to acknowledge Communications' existence. Beyond even that, Uhura mused, she really just wanted her friend back.  
  
She stopped outside the door that the ship directory had told her belonged to Chekov's quarters, and pushed the door chime. "Ensign Chekov? This is Lieutenant Uhura," she said into the speaker. Nice, even and professional. "The Captain is requesting your presence on the bridge and, due to failure to answer your comm, I've been sent here personally."  
  
Several seconds passed, and there was still no answer. Uhura put her ear to the door; she couldn't hear anything inside. Frowning--and with an irrational pit of dread growing in her stomach--she walked a couple steps over to a deck terminal and keyed into the ship's directory again. "Computer, please locate Ensign Pavel Chekov," she said. A second passed for the query to compute, and then the screen lit up with a map of Deck 9, Section 2 and a red dot blinking in the room where she had just been. Chekov was in his quarters.  
  
Uhura shook her head once to clear it. Something was off--Chekov had never been derelict in duty before, and he was clearly in his quarters; why wasn't he answering his comm? She walked quickly back to his door and, feeling silly, knocked loudly on it. "Ensign Chekov? Are you there?" Still, silence. Her stomach twisted, and she shook her head again. Surely nothing was wrong; perhaps he'd overslept. He had looked exhausted lately, now that she thought about it.  
  
She decided to try a different tack. "Pavel?" she said, knocking again. "Pavel, it's me, Nyota. Open up." A passing crewman gave her an odd look, and she smiled akwardly at him, shifting on her feet, before turning back to the door and knocking one more time. "Pavel?"  
  
On a split-second decision, she half-ran back to the deck terminal and brought up Security. "Security, this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura requesting security override to enter Ensign Pavel Chekov's quarters." She brought up his officer profile in another window. "...Deck 9, Section 2, three-F one-six-nine."  
  
The voice that answered back was decidedly less than friendly. "What for, Lieutenant? You know we don't honor requests like that, for obvious reasons."  
  
Uhura felt heat rising in her cheeks, and it wasn't at all due to embarrassment. "Captain's orders," she bit out. "Ask him yourself if you don't believe me. _Now open that door_."  
  
The reply was two seconds too long in coming for her comfort. "Yes _ma'am_." Down the corridor she heard the faint click-and-beep of the autolock on Chekov's door shutting off. She paused long enough to log out but not thank the Security officer, then rushed back to the door. "Pavel?" she called one more time, just to be safe. When no answer came, she squared her shoulders and stepped in front of the door, activating the sensors and opening it.  
  
As she stepped inside and the door swished shut behind her, she registered several things at once. First, the room was completely dark save for light filtering in through a crack in the lavatory door. Second, the bed was unmade and empty, the sheets twisted into a convoluted mess and nearly pushed off one side of the bed. Third, there was a faint odor on the air that she couldn't quite identify. Taking an experimental sniff, the first things that came to mind were _alcohol_ and _sick_.  
  
She moved instinctively toward the lavatory and the ribbon of light peeking through the door. "Pavel?" she stage-whispered. "Are you in..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes took in what was visible through the door: a few shredded, soiled napkins and a pair of boot-clad feet, sprawled at an unnatural angle on the floor.  
  
Uhura's heart leapt into her throat and she all but charged the lavatory door, slamming her hand into the door release and stumbling through, nearly tripping over the feet that blocked the entrance. When her eyes adjusted to the sudden flare of light, what she saw made her stomach drop through the floor and her blood run cold.  
  
Pavel Chekov was unconscious on the floor, still fully-clad in his uniform, body crumpled with his neck jammed up against the toilet. It was obvious that he'd been sick at least once in the toilet, and then several times after that on the floor beside it and on himself. A halo of destroyed tissues surrounded him and littered the area closest to the shower stall, where they kept several empty vodka bottles company. His skin was deathly pale and his face shone with a film of what looked to be tears mixed with snot. He didn't appear to be breathing.  
  
"Oh god," Uhura breathed and rushed to his side, shaking fingers searching for a pulse at his neck. His skin was cold, too cold, and clammy. After a terrifying minute, she found it: agonizingly slow and weak, but there. Cursing under her breath, she stood and ran into the room proper and slapped at the comm. "Uhura to sickbay!" she yelled. "We need Medical in Ensign Chekov's quarters, _now_!"  
  
McCoy's voice came back immediately, and Uhura had never been happier to hear him in her life. "Uhura?" He sounded confused. "What's the emergency?"  
  
"Just get down here," she cried, her voice growing more and more panicked by the second. "Quick. He's dying, Leonard, he's dying--"  
  
"On my way," he said, and the comm clicked off before the last word was out of his mouth. Her head buzzing white noise, Uhura ran back to the lavatory and knelt at Chekov's side, hands fluttering over him for a second as the gorge rose in her throat. If it were possible, his face looked even more pallid than it had twenty seconds ago.  
  
"No, no, no no no," she muttered, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. _Not this way, not yet, not like this_ \--she forced herself to take two deep breaths, then opened her eyes. _Okay_. Recovery position, one of the first things taught in compulsory first aid at the Academy. With a gentleness that belied her terror, she grasped underneath Chekov's shoulder and ribs and rolled him onto his side, drawing his arms out in front of him. His right arm flopped bonelessly over and his hand hit the tile with a wet smack; Uhura gritted her teeth and moved his head to tilt his chin up and his face over. Almost immediately he vomited, his torso spasming as his body sought to rid itself of the lethal alcohol. Uhura jerked back in surprise, then grabbed his face to try and keep his throat clear. His whole body shook as he had another convulsion. Even more sick bubbled at the sides of his mouth and he started gagging; she desperately tried to keep his head angled correctly. With a loud clank, she heard the outer door open and then McCoy was staring down at them, two nurses and an orderly behind him. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he switched over to full doctor mode.  
  
"Clear out, Lieutenant," he barked, moving inside the lavatory with a portable stretcher in his hands. Uhura was forced to back into the shower stall as McCoy and the orderly set the board down beside Chekov and maneuvered him onto it, securing straps over him. He'd gone still. Christine was hovering over them, getting readings on a medical scanner.  
  
"Acute ethanol poisoning," Christine said grimly, stepping back and punching something into a PADD. McCoy's face twisted as he and the orderly lifted Chekov up. "Tell me something that isn't obvious," he growled, carrying the front end of the stretcher out of the ensign's quarters and into the corridor. Uhura followed numbly, unable to tear her eyes away from Chekov's slack face. "Main Sickbay, and hurry," McCoy was saying, practically running. The orderly kept up easily on his end. "He hasn't got much time left."  
  
Uhura felt bile rise in her throat again and she ran after them, her mind spinning. In Sickbay, Chekov was immediately taken behind a curtain, McCoy shouting orders left and right. The room was suddenly alive with a flurry of activity. "Chapel! Fifty milliliters of that dextrose saline flush now, and Brent, get me a hypo of thiamine. Tracy, get the aspirator ready. We're going to have to pump him."  
  
Uhura stumbled backwards until the backs of her knees hit a bed, and she put out a hand to steady herself, the other hand pressing against her stomach. She was in absolute shock--she had never, ever expected to find Chekov like this, and underneath the abject fear she was beginning to feel a crawling, ugly guilt. What if she was somehow responsible for this?  
  
Christine hurried behind the curtain with a bag of clear fluid and an IV drip, then reappeared a minute later and went to a comm module next to the bed Uhura was leaning against. "Nurse Chapel to Bridge," she said briskly.  
  
It was enough to startle Uhura from her stupor. "Wait--no, Christine, what are you doing?"  
  
The nurse fixed her with a hard stare as she opened her mouth to speak at the Bridge's acknowledgement; then, her eyes softened. "Nyota, I have to," she said quietly. "The captain needs to be informed of this." She held her eyes for a second longer before turning back to the comm. "Yes, Bridge, this is Nurse Chapel. We have a personnel emergency in main Sickbay. The captain needs to come down here immediately."  
  
Uhura dimly heard Hawkins's reply and then, strangely, Kirk's tinny voice coming out of the speaker. "Is it Chekov?" he asked.  
  
Christine glanced at Uhura before simply saying, "Yes."  
  
"I'll be right there," Kirk snapped. "Bridge out."  
  
Christine sighed heavily as the link broke, then looked back at Uhura. "You don't need to be here right now," she said gently. "There's nothing you can do for him."  
  
Uhura shook her head, even as she felt nearly consumed by an overwhelming hysteria. "I do--"  
  
There was an angry-sounding beep of machinery from behind the curtain that couldn't possibly mean anything good. "Chapel!" McCoy yelled, but the nurse was already jogging back. The instant she disappeared behind the curtain, the doors to Sickbay opened and both Kirk and Sulu came running in full-tilt. Kirk glanced briefly at Uhura before flagging down one of the nurses who'd come out from behind the curtain at their arrival. They moved off to one side and began talking in low, quick tones. Sulu, however, ran past them all and went straight for Chekov. He was barely behind the curtain before Uhura heard McCoy roar " _OUT!_ This is a sickbay, not a goddamned circus! _Get out!_ " and a protesting Sulu was pushed back out into the middle of the floor. Before the curtain fluttered back into place Uhura was horrified to see Chekov's limbs spasming again, rattling both the bed and the orderly straining to get his ankles under wraps. Another high-pitched beeping was getting evermore insistent. "Brent! More thiamine, that obviously wasn't enough-- _yes_ , dammit, that's what I said, do you _see_ him--"  
  
The cowed assistant ran past Sulu to the supply cabinet as the helmsman backed slowly away from the cluster of activity, until he bumped into Uhura's shoulder. She could see the whites of his eyes.  
  
"What happened?" he rasped.  
  
She shook her head, mouth working noiselessly. "I--I don't know--" she finally said, her voice cracked. "I just--I found him--like that--" Her face felt hot and her throat tight, and it was a moment before she realized that the irregular _pat-pat_ sound she heard was her own tears, falling fast off her cheeks and onto the floor. Sulu didn't answer, and together they stood in silence watching nurses run back and forth, listened to the clicking and beeping of medical instruments, all working furiously to save the life of their friend and crewmate. Behind them, both Kirk and the nurse he'd been talking to exited to the turbolifts.  
  
Suddenly there was a high-pitched whistle followed by a droning of another tone: the sound every person in a medical environment fears. They could hear McCoy growl in frustration, followed by a loud bang. " _Fuck!_ Don't do this, kid. Come on back. Goddammit, Chekov--"  
  
The curtain fluttered again and both Uhura and Sulu caught a glimpse of the doctor ramrod-straight over his younger crewman, physically performing CPR on him; and Christine beside him, holding the bag of liquid high with one hand while the other flew over the control panel of some suddenly meaningless machine. Uhura felt the floor tilt dangerously underneath her. An instant before her vision went white she felt strong hands grip her by the upper arms: Sulu was the only thing keeping her upright even while his eyes remained locked on the shadows moving behind the curtain. His fingernails dug painfully into her skin but she hardly felt it. It was as though her own life was slipping away along with that of Chekov.  
  
Sound, sight and thought all blurred together until it was one deafening roar in her ears. Chekov was dying--he was nearly dead--and Uhura couldn't get past the thought of _it's my fault, it's my fault, he's dead because of me, I got there too late_ \--and yet, the one logical corner of her brain that remained insisted it couldn't be the case. Surely her gentle refusal of his affections could not have been enough to drive him to drink himself to death, intentional or otherwise. Surely? Something else had to be there, something they all had missed, something she would make damn sure was fixed, if only he would survive. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god listening that Chekov's life be spared. _He's too young, too brilliant, he's still got so much to do, please god don't let him die... I swear I'll forget I ever met Spock and sign away my life to a silly, wonderful, beautiful Russian boy if only you'll save him, I don't care, please..._  
  
Minutes passed in an eternity before Uhura was aware of McCoy emerging from behind the curtain. He looked like he'd been caught on the wrong end of a transporter beam and older than he had any right to. It was only then she noticed that all the blaring machines had quieted down to routine beeps and hums, and that the nurses were moving around silently, folding up cords and stowing away tools. Her head snapped up to look at the doctor; beside her, she could hear Sulu's breath coming in ragged gasps.  
  
McCoy let out a heavy breath and dragged his hand across his face. "He'll make it," he said quietly. "He'll be here a little while, but he'll make it. Stupid kid..."  
  
Uhura's knees gave out and she sank to the floor, dragging Sulu with her. She stumbled and fell sideways into a hard sit, burying her face in her hands. Just beside and behind her, Sulu steadied himself on one knee and dropped his forehead blindly onto her shoulder, his fingers squeezing her arms hard enough to hurt. She convulsively reached up to grab his hand where it gripped her shoulder.  
  
McCoy tried to ignore the way the other man's shoulders shook, the sound of Uhura's quiet hitching sobs. After a minute he walked to them and awkwardly touched both their heads. His fingers caressed their hair for the briefest of seconds; then he straightened and cracked his knuckles, sniffing loudly. "I'm going to go notify Jim," he said, and walked off to his office without waiting for a reply.  
  
Uhura and Sulu remained where they collapsed for a long time, until Christine came out and told them that Chekov needed his rest, and that they had to leave Sickbay.

**Author's Note:**

> So I named an OC Harrison and now, with the advent of Star Trek Into Darkness, I am just like.... dammit, self.


End file.
